Miscommunication
by Iverna
Summary: When David comes home to strange noises from his apartment, he can't quite helping jumping to conclusions... (extremely silly one-shot.)


David strides up the stairs towards the loft, holding the carrier with his sleeping son triumphantly in one hand. It's a small victory, persuading Snow to let him take Neal home while she finishes up in the office, but it's a victory nonetheless. He's still struggling to adapt to this new life, they both are, but they're making it work. Delegation, that's the thing. Leaving Ruby in charge at the station, asking Emma to stay in the apartment in order to—

He comes to an abrupt stop at the top of the stairs. The door of the apartment is just slightly ajar, and there's a regular thumping sound coming from inside it. He frowns, hesitates, hand automatically reaching to his side for a weapon.

There's a vaguely metallic-sounding clang, a gasp, and the thumping stops. "Bloody hell."

David relaxes at the sound of the voice, something he wouldn't have thought possible a year ago. But if there's anyone he can trust with Emma's safety, it's Killian Jones. He takes a step towards the door—

"I told you it won't fit." That's Emma's voice, sounding breathless and a little amused.

"It's not _that_ big."

David frowns, suddenly rethinking his trust of Hook. Specifically, of Hook with Emma in the loft. Alone. Doing... whatever it is they're doing.

David is no longer sure he wants to open the door, not that they've bothered closing it properly.

"Just hold it steady, Swan." The thumping resumes, more hesitantly this time. "Get in there, you—"

"_Killian!_ Stop, you're gonna break something."

"I'm being gentle." The pirate sounds more than a little breathless, too.

"Well I can't—ahh!" Emma gasps. "I can't keep holding on like this."

"Perhaps we ought to try another angle, then."

"Are you sure that's even where it goes?"

"There's nowhere else for it _to_ go, love."

"Maybe we need more lubricant."

"More? I'm quite sure the damn thing is covered with it already. _I_ certainly am."

David's frown is deepening, and he can feel his cheeks warming. He really doesn't want to be here anymore. Trouble is, he can't leave, either, because Neal will wake up any minute now for his lunchtime snack, and if he fails on that front, his wife will never let him hear the end of it.

"That was _not_ my fault," Emma says.

"I still think it's this plastic bit of nonsense that's the trouble." Fabric rustles and leather boots thump against the floor. "We don't need it. Let me just take it off and see how we go."

"Yeah, okay, fine." Emma sounds impatient now, and David still isn't quite sure that he's actually hearing all of this but he's thinking more and more that he really ought to intervene here. He's her father, after all.

"Can you—?" Emma begins.

"That's what the hook's for, love." David swears that he can _hear _the wink, and that tears it. He strides towards the door, shoves it open. He can't see them, but he can see black boots peeking out from behind the kitchen island and the top of Emma's head just behind the counter. He's around the island with another few steps—

And comes to another abrupt stop. Emma is kneeling on the floor, fully dressed and holding a wrench, her expression a little worried and her eyes on Killian. All David can see of _him_ is his legs, given that he's currently twisted a little awkwardly around the dishwasher that is taking up most of the space behind the island.

The dishwasher. The new one, David remembers. The one that was supposed to be delivered today. The reason why they'd asked Emma to stop by the loft so that someone would be here to sign for it.

There's a metallic snap, a muttered "hah!", and Killian reappears. He's only wearing pants and a shirt, half the buttons undone as usual and one sleeve rolled up. He's also half-drenched with water, David realises, and there are smears of dark grease on his face, and his hand, and his hook. His black hair is messier than usual, strands of it plastered to his forehead, and his face looks a little flushed.

"You get it?" Emma asks him. She looks up. "Oh. Hey, Dad."

"Well, the hose is connected at last." Killian slumps back against the island, legs splayed out in front of him, still breathing hard. "I'm reasonably confident that it's watertight, although I'd encourage you to double-check before we turn the water on again." He looks up at David. "Sorry, mate. We were hoping to be done by the time you got back, but this bloody devil machine has turned out to be quite the challenge."


End file.
